


Burning Bridges

by Siriusfan13



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25277059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfan13/pseuds/Siriusfan13
Summary: Kenshin never killed Kiyosato, throwing the events of Ruroken into an entirely new timeline. However, fate has a way of poking her nose in, and ten years after Bakumatsu a mysterious redhead enters Tokyo... this time carrying two very deadly blades...AU
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: As usual, Ruroken remain's Watsuke-sama's property... not mine.
> 
> Author's Note: I'm not sure how clear the summary was, since I didn't get much room to write there, so here's the idea. It's called the ripple effect. Where one small thing changes in the past, and suddenly everything as we know it has changed drastically in the present. But the question is... are things fated to happen... or will fate allow them to change completely?  
> And just so you know... this one ISN'T a time travel fic. It's an AU. That's all. A simple "What if Kenshin remained Battousai? What if he never met Tomoe at all?"
> 
> Enjoy.

**Burning Bridges**

_Prologue_

Over one hundred-fifty years ago in Japan, there was a great revolution known as Bakumatsu. The country was torn apart while political battles, both verbal and physical, raged as clan fought clan. Assassinations were commonplace, and the streets flowed crimson with blood. As is always the case, history was written by the victors. And it is this history that tells us of the great men who fought to preserve what they believed to be justice. The the Bukafu, the Shinsengumi, the Choshu and Satsuma leaders... the brave men who fought and bled and died for their country... their stories are known, told and retold.

Then there are the hitokiri. The shadow assassins. The dark secrets of the governments, both new and old. Their stories were never told. Their histories, never written. They are said to have disappeared into the shadows that bred them. Or they returned to normal life. They died anonymously.

They were erased.

According to official record, Shishio Makoto died in battle. According to official record, hitokiri Battousai never even existed.

According to the people of Kyoto, official records lie.


	2. False Demon

_**Chapter 1: False Demon** _

_1878—Eleventh year of Meiji_

Pebbles crunched under his feet as he traveled wearily down the long road toward Tokyo. He had been walking for a long time, and was exhausted. And the trouble a few miles back had only further worn at his tired frame. He fingered the katana at his side, his hand gently caressing the hilt of the longer sword, before slipping up and readjusting his wakizashi, the shorter blade having most recently been used during the incident.

He sighed, annoyed. He honestly didn't have time to deal with every bandit he met on the road. And each time he had to stop, he'd lessened his likelihood of reaching Tokyo before daybreak. As it was, he was lucky to be approaching just as the eastern sky began to lighten.

It wasn't long before he entered the city's boundaries. Here he stopped for the briefest moment to take in his surroundings. It was still early enough that a cool damp clung to his skin. The air had the fragrant scent of wet earth, of cooking, of life. It was nice for a moment to be able to stop and experience it. Before the sun rose, banishing the shadows.

Shadows like him.

He continued walking. Best to keep moving. He had to find a place to rest soon. Somewhere away from prying eyes. It wouldn't be long before the city woke up, and there would be crowds, something he'd never grown completely comfortable with.

He froze at the sound of a bell clanging in the still air. Some sort of warning? His instincts told him to retreat, that this bell was bound to draw undue attention, but his feet were ignoring his instincts, and he found himself drawn to the source of the sound, now only echoes among the buildings.

He paused, listening. Reaching out to sense something. Anything. He felt the clash of strong ki before he heard the voices.

Again, his feet were working before his common sense could stop him. This time running. He turned one corner. Then another. He could hear people now, those few who were awake, frozen in their tasks of working or setting up shop in this early hour by the ominous clanging of the bell.

He turned down another street, and just as the people came into view, he heard a girl shout. "Hitokiri Battousai!"

The blood froze in his veins, and finally, _finally_ his feet realized that this was not an ideal situation. He stood like a foolish statue on the outskirts of the crowd, watching the girl fight a man over twice her height. Her proclamation of his name rang through his mind just as the warning bell had rung through the city. Time seemed to stand still as he waited for everyone to turn to him, to try and kill him.

To sacrifice their lives to the bloody demon, Himura Battousai.

It wasn't until the giant swung down his blade, slicing the girl's shoulder open, laughing crudely, proclaiming his _own_ name as "Battousai," that Himura realized what was going on, and he found that he was able to breathe again. _Another Battousai. What was this? The_ third _or was it the_ fourth _village that had claimed his name? Although this was by far the most disgusting display he'd seen yet._ He snorted disdainfully and turned to walk away. He didn't have time for this again.

"I won't let you dishonor my father's name! I'll defeat you!" There was such defiance in her voice. She was fighting for her honor. For her father's...

Almost against his will, Himura turned back to look at the girl. Unfeminine. She was short and smudged with dirt, her back against the wall of a nearby building. One hand clutched her wounded shoulder while the other firmly held a bokken. She was a plain girl. Nothing special.

But his eyes were drawn to the fierce set of her mouth. The venom in her eyes. The unwavering stance. She was willing to die to fight this man...

The tall "Battousai" laughed crudely, armed with a huge, gleaming blade. It's edge already glistening with a ruby sheen of her blood.

"My sword will protect his name," she whispered, her soft voice still carrying over the hushed, frightened crowd. "My sword will protect..."

The false demon's blade swung down in a death blow, stopping only inches from her face. Easily blocked by Himura's katana. He could feel her surprised ki behind him. Could hear the excited voices of the crowd as they exclaimed in astonishment at his speed, the way he'd just materialized.

More frightened voices drawing attention to his swords.

But they were only a quiet buzz in the back of his mind as the cold amber of his eyes focused on the giant before him. "So," he said softly, "you are hitokiri Battousai, are you?" He easily flicked his blade, forcing the taller man's sword away. "You are the legend who could kill six men with one swing of his katana?" He took a casual step toward the man, his frightening eyes never losing their focus. "You are the demon, the nightmare of Bakumatsu?"

For some reason the giant seemed unable to speak, hesitating a moment, and then choosing action to speak for him, striking once again with brute force. This time, he not only missed his target, but was given a wound to the side as an additional gift.

The false Battousai's eyes narrowed in pain and confusion. "Who do you think you are, runt?" he growled viciously, finding his voice again.

Himura responded with a dark, narrowing of his deadly eyes. "It doesn't matter who I am. I'm merely a traveler. But you... if you are Battousai, then it seems the government didn't finish their job with you, did they?" His lips curved into a small sneer. "The hitokiri were eliminated... Perhaps I should help the police exorcise this relic."

He was in motion again, his longer blade slashing out against the bearded giant. One slice. Then another and another. None deep enough to kill, but each effectively weakening the giant until, in a motion reminiscent of David and Goliath, the large man's weapon dropped, and he fell first to his knees and then to the ground. All of this within moments, before the small redhead had even broken a sweat. Sheathing his katana, Himura casually approached the body, crouching beside the wounded man.

"Baka," he whispered, drawing his wakizashi. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you? You're playing with fire." He pressed the blade to the man's exposed neck. "Now..."

"NO!" He froze at the sharp cry from behind. The girl's ki so strong that he could feel her fear and her fury. She ran to him, wrapping one of her slim hands around his wrist to pull it back, and keep him from slashing. "Don't kill him."

He shot a dark glare in her direction, "Are you crazy, girl? He'd have killed us both. Why _shouldn't_ I?"

"No... If you kill him, you'll be no better. A sword should protect, not kill." She still held him, as though her grip could stop him.

Somehow it did.

"You _are_ crazy," he muttered, relaxing the tensed muscles of his sword arm.

"Please," she whispered. "Stop."

He snorted softly. "Baka," he muttered. "Don't you realize that I already have?" He easily pulled his arm from her grip, sheathing his blade.

" _Stay right there!"_

" _Don't move!"_

Himura turned sharply to look behind him. Already two police officers, their eyes on his forbidden blades, on the blood and the wounded girl, were forcing their way through the reluctantly moving crowds to apprehend their criminal. "Great," he snapped, looking for an escape. This was all he needed... to be taken before he could even complete his business.

A small alley caught his eye just as the officers burst into the clearing. Himura was moving again, pushing past the girl and running for the shadows where he belonged. The police were right behind him, and if it weren't for his unnatural speed, he'd have been arrested for sure. As it was, the only reason he managed to dodge through the crowd was because of the combination of fear and curiosity that he elicited in the people that caused them to clear a wide path as he ran, and closing behind him before the police could make it through.

He raced through alleyway after alleyway, unsure of what he was searching for. A safe haven perhaps? He wasn't likely to find one now. Not with the undue attention he'd drawn to himself. Or he could finish his business early...

The buildings were thinning out, and he was losing his cover. The voices of the police had faded into the background, but it wouldn't be long before they split up, searching every building, every alleyway. This wasn't the first time he'd been in such a situation. He needed to find somewhere safe to duck into _now_. Before they recognized who he was, and completed the sentence he'd barely escaped ten years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: A big thanks to sueb262 for her beta work, and to lolo popoki and FrostPhoenix for looking at this!  
> Thanks for reading, feel free to drop reviews. I feed on them!
> 
> Dewa mata!


	3. A Burning Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I'm sorry... I was afraid this chapter would be confusing, and it seems I was right... so quick recap on what this story is first... it's a non-canonical (aka alternate universe) fic about what could have happened if Kenshin had never met Tomoe or her fiancee... This means the timeline has changed starting with the moment he SHOULD have received the first slash on his face from Kiyosota Akira. And this means you have to figure out what's changed and what's not so changed... sometimes a more daunting task than one would think, as looks can be quite deceiving, and truth is not always what it appears when it first meets the eye...
> 
> Secondly, this is a flashback chapter (thus the date and location)... I'll move back to the present soon, but whenever I put full chapters or hugs portions in italics like this, and separate them from the rest of the story, it's probably a dream or flashback sequence... And of course with me, it's always a good idea to check for a date and or location as backup...
> 
> That said, please enjoy the following chapter...

**_Chapter 2: A Burning Memory_ **

_1868-Kyoto_

* * *

_They had won._

_It should have been a glorious thing. It meant the war was over. That this bloody revolution was finally at an end. That they should be celebrating, the end of the war heralded by cheering and rejoicing of the common people. Those who never had a choice in the matter, yet who_ _had paid the highest price._

_For him, the end had been marked by a gunshot, screams and the crackling of flames._

_He hadn't been the one to discover their betrayal. No. He had been prepared to disappear. He was grateful that the fighting was over, but he was no fool_ _. His shishou had warned him what would happen to him if he were used as a soulless weapon. And as usual, Hiko had been right. It had taken him years to realize it. And it had nearly cost him something more valuable that his lost time._

_A second hitokiri had been brought in when Katsura had begun to worry that Battousai was growing unbalanced, and his soul being ripped apart. When the redhead had gone from uncaring calm after assignments to an almost maddening guilt that had weighed down his ki, swaying him between a_ _frustrating parody of the innocent he had once been and the unbridled killer he was struggling not to become_ _. This other hitokiri, Shishio Makoto, had helped bring Battousai back into balance. He had watched Shishio's reactions to killing. How the man had relished in the act, not from joy of death, but as an active step closer to achieving his goals. And the redhead had realized that this was acceptable. That in some ways, this followed the teachings of Hiten Mitsurugi. His_ _goal was to protect. He would kill to do so._

_And so he'd trusted Shishio. Trusted him as he'd trusted no onesince his shishou. That was why, in the black of their final night, when Shishio had warned him of the treachery, although Himura hadn't wanted to believe it of Katsura, he'd had no reason to doubt his comrade._

_They had run that night, taking nothing with them but their weapons and some food. They'd made it out of Kyoto, Battousai leading the way through the woods and up the mountain. Hoping he could somehow convince his shishou to help them, even if they didn't deserve help._

_They'd never made it to the shack in the woods_ _. Shishio suspected they'd been followed. Had gone back to check, and_ _cover their tracks._

_There had been a gunshot_ _. Himura ran back to the sound of screams to find several soldiers, many Satsuma, but some Choshu around a writhing bonfire._

_Himura did not have to ask what had happened to Shishio._

_Himura had killed them all that night. Every last one of them before the blackened body had fallen still, the flames rolled out too late. There was nothing the redhead could do, except offer a prayer, and move on before more soldiers came._

_He'd left both saddened and horrified that while his comrade had given his life that night, he, Himura Battousai, had gotten out with nothing more than a vertical slash across his left cheek._

_And the eternal memory of the terrible deed he'd been unable to prevent._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note 2: It's short. I know... but the chapter felt done, so there you have it...  
> Big thanks to sueb262 and lolo popoki and FrostPhoenix for their thoughtful and eternally helpful beta work!
> 
> And thanks to the rest of you for reading. Please review.
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3: Symbiosis**

_1878—Tokyo_

The building he'd stopped in had been deserted. It didn't quite have the feeling of being abandoned, but no one was there, and he needed rest. He sat crouched in a darkened corner of the large room, his eyes constantly alert, roaming to the windows and doorway to be certain he would not be taken by surprise.

He ran one hand along the smooth wood floor. Lifted his hand and looked at it. _Kuso._ It was clean. This place definitely wasn't abandoned. In disrepair to some extent, but still cared for. Someone would be coming home. He'd have to take care to avoid them if he didn't want another fight.

So much for rest.

Even so, he managed to fall into a light sleep, leaning against the wall. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there before the owner came home, but the moment he heard footsteps, his eyes sprung open and he was on his feet, his right hand tight against the hilt of his katana.

He willed the person to pass this building. To go about some other chores, so he could leave in peace, but the footsteps grew closer, and Himura was forced to prepare. Silently he eased toward the large door, placing himself next to it, so he'd be able to attack the moment it opened.

He didn't have to wait long. The steps approached and stopped only a moment before daylight streamed into the room as the door slid open.

Himura tensed, ready to draw when he suddenly recognized the ki, and he let the blade drop.

She stood in the doorway. The same girl from earlier that day. The one he'd stopped to help. So, it was _her_ dojo he'd slipped into.

He noted the clean floor and lack of names on the wall.

_Figured..._

She stepped inside, glancing around, and for once he didn't know what to do. He couldn't attack her. What would have been the point of saving her life, then? So he just stared foolishly at her as she turned in his direction.

There was a moment of complete silence as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then she suddenly realized that she was looking into someone's face and screamed, drawing her bokken with surprising speed, even with her shoulder injured, and swinging it at his head.

The redhead barely managed to block it with his arm.

She was fast. And she wasn't stopping...

" _What are you doing here? Who are you? Get out of my dojo!"_ she screamed, swinging the bokken with practiced moves. Excellent form for one who wanted to go about life swinging a toy sword. Not so helpful against one of the most skilled men of Bakumatsu.

He blocked every move, backing out of the shadows and into the light. Finally, after one swing almost landed, he caught the next in the palm of his hand, wrenched the bokken from her grip and flung it across the room.

The wooden sword struck the wall and clattered uselessly against the polished floor.

"Stop hitting me," he snapped in a cold voice. "If this is how you treat _all_ of your guests it's no wonder you have no students," he motioned to the nearly bare wall.

She stared at him, breathing hard, her anger at his outburst and insult clearly struggling to outweigh her fear. He had to respect that throughout her entire frenzied attack, she'd never succumbed completely to panic. She'd moved skillfully, even if it had been useless against him...

"You..." she whispered finally. "You're the boy from the market. The one who..." She shook her head as though to clear it, remaining on the defensive. "What are you doing here? Why are you following me?"

He snorted. "Following? I've been here awhile now. Didn't realize it was your dojo..." He wearily rubbed his eyes. "I just needed a place to rest."

"They have inns for that, you know," she commented finally relaxing. Managing to amuse him again.

He graced her with a small smile. "Yes, well... I ruined all chances of staying at an inn when the police saw my swords earlier, didn't I?" He watched her cheeks flush guiltily, as she realized what he was getting at.

"Oh..." She blinked at him a couple of times, surprised by sudden realization that in saving her, he'd nearly condemned himself. "I didn't... I'm sorry." She shook her head, tearing her eyes from the intensity of his gaze. "I never did get to properly thank you for what you did."

He shrugged, immediately uncomfortable, and turned away. "I don't want thanks."

A flicker of annoyance passed over her face. "Please. I'm trying to express my gratitude. I don't even know your name-"

"Himura..." he replied, cutting her short. "Himura Kenshin."

"And I am Kamiya Kaoru-"

Again, he cut her off, feeling uncharacteristically awkward around this girl. "You've thanked me now, so I'll be leaving." He stepped past her toward the open doors. Then hesitated. He wasn't particularly looking forward to having to sleep outside again. Especially since it was only late April, which meant he had a bit of waiting before he could meet up with his assigned partner and finish the job.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, drawing his surprised attention back to her. "You could stay here for awhile... if you needed to. It's the least I can do. I don't have much, but—"

"I'm not a charity case," he snapped, unnerved by the way she'd nearly read his mind. "Anyway, I have business to attend to here, and then I'm leaving. I won't be in Tokyo long."

"Then stay until your business is done. It wouldn't be charity. If you won't take my gratitude, then you could work for your keep. I mean, you're obviously good with a sword. You could help me run the dojo; help recruit and train—"

"No." His voice was flat. Definite.

"What?"

"I will train no one. Especially not in a style other than my own. No."

"But-"

Again he turned his attention outside. Clouds were moving in, obscuring the sun. And honestly, it was still a bit cold. He considered. _Only a few weeks... and he didn't have to let her get involved..._ "I'll work for my keep, but not like that." He looked around again at the old dojo. "I can fix this place up. Cook. Shop. Clean. Whatever." His voice was flat. It was a business deal. Nothing more.

She blinked at him in surprise. "Really? You can cook?"

"I'm not completely useless," he growled, causing her to flush.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she snapped back, her hands twitching into fists.

 _What was that all about?_ He didn't grace her with an answer, instead changing the subject. "How is your wound?" He motioned to her shoulder, where the yukata was torn and stained red.

She was still steaming at his comment about cooking, so her answer was sharp, even though she seemed to recognize the slightly gentler tone his voice had taken. "It was wrapped up at the police office." She finally stepped past him sliding the door shut behind them, then turned and walked further into her dojo, taking a seat. "I had to go there and explain what happened. I tried to get them to at least understand that you hadn't been the one who'd hurt me."

Stiffly, he took a seat beside her, trying to feel as though perhaps he at least somewhat belonged, uncertain and suspicious about why she had defended him. "And the man who attacked you?"

"The police arrested him. They were even willing to forget about your swords, since you helped catch Battousai." She turned wide eyes to him. "He's a killer, you know," she said, her voice falling to a hushed whisper.

Himura snorted. "Hitokiri generally are."

She shook her head. "I don't mean just that. He appeared in Tokyo about a week ago, murdering people in my family's name. Claiming to kill with the Kamiya Kasshin style of swordsmanship. There was no method to his murders. He just killed at random. Men and women. Anyone..." Her eyes had dropped to her hands, and she missed the deadly glint in the redhead's eyes.

"Then you should have just let me kill him. It would have been quick and clean... more than he deserved."

"No!" she exclaimed, alarmed again, her violent mood swings, disorienting him. "It isn't right. A sword is meant to protect, not kill. That is the Kamiya Kasshin style. If I'd have let you kill him to protect our name, you would have tainted it anyway."

His expression didn't change, except for a slight, frustrated twitch of his eyebrow. "Swords aren't for killing? Then tell me, what are _your_ swords meant to protect people from?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously, intriguing him. Reminding him why he'd been interested enough in the marketplace to stop and help this girl. "Don't mock my father's ideals! One day swords won't be needed at all. But until then, they should be used in the defense of the weak. Can't you understand that?"

_They had been sitting underneath the stars near a small shack in the woods, the large swordsman and his small, red haired deshi. As usual, it had been the older man who'd been speaking. "Hiten Mitsurugi is a powerful sword technique. If used incorrectly, it could slaughter hundreds. Thousands. And they would never know what happened." The swordsmaster took a long swig from his sake jug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing. "This, Kenshin, is exactly why this technique must never fall into the wrong hands. The only hands that should control your skills are your own, and you must use Hiten Mitsurugi to protect the weak. Those who are unable to protect themselves. Do you understand, Kenshin?"_

_The boy had nodded his head, his wide, lavender eyes fixed upon his mentor. "Yes, Shishou. I understand..."_

Kaoru's voice suddenly broke into his thoughts, bringing him back into the present. "When I was a child, I remember people talking about Battousai." Her voice had a soft, frightened quality, as though she were recounting a ghost story. "They said he was such a deadly hitokiri because he was really a demon. That his very glance could kill." She laughed it off, but the fear didn't quite leave her eyes. "We used to be told that he would come for us if we misbehaved. People stopped talking about him after the war, so of course I just assumed that he was only a story meant to scare us into being good. I never realized..."

Himura scowled. "That man was not Battousai," he said sharply, drawing her startled gaze.

She just stared at him. "How do _you_ know? He might have been. Most of the men who actually would have seen Battousai are dead now. Anyway, why should he lie about it?"

"For fame. For fear." He shrugged, looking away. "It wouldn't be the first time. I've been traveling a long time, and I've seen many such impostors. And he _is_ an imposter. He is no hitokiri. There is a difference between a true hitokiri and a murderer. It's a fine line, and these days, most of those few who survived the revolution have crossed it, and paid the price. But even now, we all have our skills, and we certainly wouldn't become as sloppy as that baka." Unconsciously, he pressed his hand to the single scar running vertically down his face.

She blinked up at him in surprise. "We?"

He looked away, refusing to make eye contact. "I fought the revolution. In those days, we all fought for the same cause. Hitokiri or no, we had the same goals, none of us more shameful than the others..." He trailed off realizing that the girl was just staring at him now. "What?"

" _You_ were in the revolution? Just how old are you?"

He stared at her, not quite comprehending for a moment that she was actually asking his age. "Thirty. Why? What does _that_ have to do with anything?"

Her jaw dropped, and she looked about ready to fall over. " _Thirty? No way! That isn't possible! With_ that _face?"_

He turned away again, something sad and dark in his eyes, and she fell silent. That look he'd had just then. It had convinced her where none of his words ever would have. Yes, he'd been a part of the revolution. She'd only seen eyes like that in the few old revolutionaries she'd met in her short life. It was almost unnerving how his eyes shifted from the frightening amber they had been earlier to this sad deep blue.

"Is that where you got that scar?" she asked softly, pointing to the single vertical slash on his face.

"I don't want to talk about it." He stood abruptly and, bowing briefly to her, made it clear that the conversation was over. "If that is all, Kaoru-dono, I'd like to rest. I'll start fixing this place up tomorrow."

Kaoru blushed a little, "You don't have to call me 'Kaoru-dono!' Just 'Kaoru' will be fine! And really, there's no rush!"

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, Kaoru-dono, but to keep my end of the bargain, I will need to help fix this place before I leave, and I won't be staying long. Only a few weeks... until my business is done..."

He paused, thinking a moment. "...I'll need to hurry if I wish to finish. I'll take my leave of you on May 14th."

With that, he turned and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks again to sueb262 and lolo popoki for their invaluable beta work.  
> To the rest of you, thanks for reading. Please review!
> 
> Dewa mata!


	5. Nothing Ventured

**Chapter 4: Nothing Ventured...**

_Tokyo_

It had been one week, and already Kenshin's handiwork was visible. Only one week, yet they'd already fallen into a routine. He would wake up early and disappear while she bathed and dressed. After close to an hour, he'd return to cook, eat and clean... sometimes laundry, sometimes the dojo itself.

By early afternoon, he would shop and return with both dinner and whatever supplies he needed to spend the next few hours patching and improving upon her family's small dojo. The only thing he _didn't_ do was recruit for her. That was left to Kaoru herself. Otherwise, for the amount of time and effort he put into the place, one would think that _he_ were its owner. Just because he'd promised to "earn his keep." She couldn't help but wonder if he put this much passion into _everything_ that he did.

And even with all of this hard work during the day, he still had time to make dinner and disappear in the evening for a few hours to himself for his mysterious business. She hardly ever asked him about it anymore. Not since the first morning that he'd made breakfast and she'd asked where he had gone. But this time he hadn't returned until the sky was pale pink on the eastern horizon. She couldn't hid her concern... and so she had asked him again.

His response had been short and careful. His voice measured. His tone polite. She was still "Kaoru-dono," which she hated. He wouldn't even agree to "Kamiya-san." And so, in her irritation, she had stopped referring to him as "Himura-san" and simply called him "Kenshin," or occasionally "Kenshin no baka" when he _really_ irritated her, as he had that day.

"Kenshin," she'd suggested, "why don't you take a day off from this?"

He hadn't answered.

"You don't need to work yourself to death."

He'd taken her by surprise then, chuckling softly at that comment, while he hung laundry. "You needn't worry about that, Kaoru-dono. If my work is ever the death of me, it certainly won't be from _this_."

She'd ignored the enigmatic statement, stepping up beside him, and handing him wet clothing from her tattered basket. "I just mean that you never seem to sleep. You're out all night, and then you come in, sleep for an hour and take off again, only to return to more work. You're going to run yourself ragged."

His laughter had stopped, and he'd turned his ordinarily blank eyes toward her. There was a hint of amber in them this time. She'd said something wrong. "Why do you note my movements?"

The wet obi fell from her hands, as she stared at him wide-eyed. "What?"

"Why do you track my activities? Why do you pay attention?" His eyes narrowed. "We aren't married. I owe no allegiance to you other than what I'm paying back now."

Her cheeks flushed. "I didn't mean that..."

He snatched up the obi, which had fallen into the grass, and dusted it off before hanging it. "Don't worry about me. Forget I exist at night. Remember me when I return in the morning. That is all I ask. I am sorry that my sleep habits bother you, but I'll be out of your hair in a week's time."

"That's not what I meant. Ken—"

He looked at her sharply, and she fell silent. "I don't care if that's what you meant, Kaoru-dono. Mean what you like. Do as you like. Only don't bother with my business, and don't follow, even if it _is_ only in your mind."

He turned abruptly away, picking up the now empty basket, and examining it, as though his thoughts had never left the laundry. "You need a new one. I'll purchase one today." Without warning, he turned from her and walked away, while she was still trying to regain her voice.

He was barely down the road when she'd screamed after him that he was a baka and she'd never marry him anyway. The words had made more sense in her mind as she'd tried frantically to keep up with his own emphatic speech.

They were lost on him either way. He didn't hear her. Or, more likely, he simply found it easier than she to forget what was no longer in his presence.

He didn't look back.

* * *

_Kyoto_

The Mibu wolf emerged silently from the cover of trees. He had been watching this place for awhile, but time was running short. He had to make a move. The only person in the clearing was a large man in a long white cloak, seated facing a kiln.

So this was the great Hiko Seijuro, thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi, and trainer of Battousai. This... potter in an ugly cloak. Saito Hajime stealthily crept forward, moving silently. One of the police force by trade, he was used to loud entrances. But the wolf was his soul... and this wolf was stalking dangerous prey. Slowly, carefully the tall, gaunt man advanced. His katana barely whispered as it slid gracefully from its sheath. Two more steps and he was in place. Still the large man before him remained motionless.

 _Let's see how skilled Battousai's master really is._ He readied his katana for attack and charged with a full speed gatotsu. In a single instant he was plunging his blade through Hiko's breast. Except that the swordmaster was no longer there. The cloaked figure now stood casually about five feet behind him.

Saito sheathed his sword and turned. Hiko didn't look remotely disturbed about having almost been run though. In fact, the man was still holding a full sake cup, which he was currently drinking from.

Hiko raised an eyebrow and commented, "Interesting. Has the government sunken so low that innocent potters become targets of the police force?"

"Innocent potters have nothing to worry about," Saito replied, his voice cold and soft. "It's Hiko Seijuro, thirteenth master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu that I'm after."

Hiko snorted. "I see. Make your point quickly then, and leave."

Saito nodded, smirking. "Fair enough. You have certain skills that I need for a... project I have been sent to work on." He paused. "You were difficult to track down."

Hiko took another drink of sake, this time directly from the jug, and circled the wolf, stopping when the lowering late afternoon sun was directly behind him. "I assume that's all." He laughed harshly. "You may once have been a wolf of Mibu, Saito Hajime, but right now you are also a government dog. I have no intention of teaching you Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, whatever your project may be." He tipped the sake jug in Saito's direction. "However, thank you for reminding me why I lost interest in mankind. Goodbye, wolf." He turned his back and began walking toward the shabby hut where he resided.

Saito watched him leave, unfazed. "That's right. I'd heard that you don't like people. I wonder, does that stem from your apprentice, hitokiri Battousai, leaving you, or do you really just hate everyone that much?"

Hiko froze, as Saito had expected. The man's voice was rough when he replied. "I have never met the Battousai. My apprentice was a boy named Kenshin. And that boy is dead now." He turned, glaring darkly at Saito. "Battousai killed him."

"Interesting." Saito could tell that he'd hit a nerve. _Perfect_. He lit a cigarette, requiring the swordmaster to wait. Finally, after a few satisfactory drags, he remarked coolly, "Then Himura Battousai's name is a mere coincidence. But if that's the case, then I still can't understand how a mere peasant boy managed to claim a surname before the Meiji era. I was under the impression that he received his name from Himura Miki, later to be known as Hiko Seijuro the thirteenth." He grinned, an even less pleasant sight than his perpetual scowl. A flash of teeth. Of fangs. And the wolf went for the kill. "Surprising that you gave some random boy a surname. Especially that of your real name. A very personal gift to a man you no longer acknowledge fifteen years later." Saito snorted. "You call me a government dog, yet you seem to play the game pretty well yourself. Take in a boy. Give him a name. Use him for your purpose, and when he stops being what you want, then you pretend he doesn't exist."

The poison in the older man's eyes silenced him. Barely. "What do you want? If not training, then what more do you expect of me? I have no desire to take part in your little government intrigues. And I refuse to train anyone. One baka deshi is plenty."

"Baka deshi... how refreshing... I will have to remember that nickname when I see Himura Battousai..." He smirked and puffed at his cigarette, bowing slightly in a mock apologetic motion, "...excuse me... when I see Himura _Kenshin_... again."

"You try my patience."

"At least I try to do something."

That was enough. The long white cloak snapped in the wind as Hiko turned and began walking away, choosing silence over childish bickering.

But Saito wasn't through. "I have a proposition to make," he said softly. "A way to atone."

"Atone..."

The cigarette was flicked to the ground where it smoldered a moment before dying. "Yes. To atone for bringing a demon into the world. You trained him. You created him."

Hiko stood in the doorway, making no move. "He chose his own path. He left me."

"Fine. He left you to kill. And now he's gone over the edge. You ignored his assassinations during Bakumatsu. Will you continue to ignore him when kills innocents? When he wipes out entire villages?"

"He wouldn't."

"How do you know he hasn't?"

Hiko turned, his eyes black. Silent. Dead.

"Battousai must be eliminated, Hiko-san. Now is your chance to exorcise the demon you helped create..."

* * *

_Tokyo_

Kaoru hadn't even noticed the young man approach. He'd been as silent as a ghost, materializing out of nowhere.

When she'd turned, he was just suddenly there, smiling as he easily blocked the bokken, her automatic response to anything unexpected. She was growing irritated by how many seemed to be able to block it.

"I'm sorry to intrude," the youth said, his voice higher and younger than she'd expected. "But perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for a man named Himura Kenshin. Have you seen him?"

She glared at him, but remained silent. God only knew who this youth was, and she certainly had no interest in getting her one and only tenant killed for no reason.

But the young man was undisturbed. He laughed lightly, "Don't worry. We're acquaintances. I'm just looking for him. I was sent to meet him to take care of some business. That's all." He glanced around the deserted grounds. "I take it he's not here?"

"No." She would offer him nothing else.

He didn't seem to care. "A shame. I'll have to catch up with him later, then. And I think he'd have liked to join me, too. A job right up his alley." The boy shrugged. "Ah well... that's what I get for coming early. But just in case, let him know I dropped by. I'll return in a week."

With those words he turned to leave.

Kaoru stared after him a moment, before finally pulling out of the confused fog that this eerie young man had drifted her into. "Wait... who _are_ you?"

He smiled back at her from the gate. "Just tell Himura-san that the Tenken came for him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: As usual, a big thank you to sueb262 and lolo popoki for their extremely helpful beta work. Thank you so much!  
> And a big thanks to all readers. Please review!
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5: A Price to Pay**

_Tokyo_ **  
**

The young boy had been watching the redhead for half an hour now, distancing himself as much as possible. _So, this was the guy people had been speaking of for the past couple of weeks. The one who had taken down Battousai._ Though he didn't want to admit it, he was fascinated. This man was so short. He looked so weak. It seemed impossible that he could have really done it.

He had tried not to let his interest show when he'd overheard some yakuza talking about this man. It hadn't been hard at first; fights were commonplace, after all... and even though it had been _Battousai_ of all people who had been taken down, it really wasn't the fight itself that had drawn him. There were stronger and better fighters appearing all the time... and anyway, Battousai had to be an old man by now... No, what had fascinated the youth had been the description of the victor. _"Young. Short. Kind of girly."_ If someone like that could take down Battousai, he might be worth some attention.

As though realizing he was being watched, the redhead carefully scanned the marketplace, his hand brushing his swords with an almost tender touch.

The youth watched in rapt fascination. _This_ was a samurai. _This_ was the sort of man his father would have known. Someone who even now wasn't afraid to show his swords. His heritage. Someone who had overcome what shortcomings nature had provided, and had still managed to grow strong.

Unconsciously, the boy stood a bit straighter. He really wasn't much shorter than this redhead. Not really. He just needed a little training (well, maybe a lot) and some swords. He was unable to dwell on this thought, once again forced to duck back down behind a small fish stand as the man turned in his general direction, his dark eyes scanning the crowd briefly.

Apparently satisfied, the samurai turned away and began walking, forcing the boy to push his way against the current of people on his side of the street to keep up. _What business was he on? Why was he so wary? Someone like him had probably been sent by the government to deal with dangerous criminals like Battousai._ The boy's eyes widened in excitement. _Or maybe this guy_ was _a criminal, himself._ He was so lost in his imaginings, he almost plowed right into a pretty young girl sweeping in front of a building, only barely managing to dodge at the last possible moment.

Meanwhile, unhurriedly, the redhead slipped between stands and bodies. pausing here and there, but constantly moving along on his business. After what seemed like a long while, he stopped, causing the youth's heart to skip a beat. _Finally._

To the boy's disappointment, he just picked up a basket from a vendor and began bargaining. _Shopping. That's all? This can't be the guy..._ But he had to be. There was something different, even while making a simple purchase, that made him stand out from the rest of the crowd. Something other than his red hair, and the single, harsh scar that marred the left side of his face from cheek to chin. The boy watched his careful motions. The firm set of his shoulders. In fact, there was almost a tenseness in the air around him. Strong enough that people gave him room. The marketplace was crowded... but no one touched him.

The young samurai's eyes were on the basket and its owner, but his attention was clearly on everything else around him. He was aware of everything, and the boy knew it now. Knew that ducking behind people and stands hadn't hidden him at all. Knew that watching was over for today.

He turned away, catching from the corner of his eye, a glimpse of the redhead's heavy purse. In the end, the youth planned on relieving the him of that. But not until he'd gotten something far more valuable from this swordsman.

Until then, Yahiko planned on watching this one. Watching and learning from him.

* * *

Kenshin carried his load through the marketplace, acutely aware of the attention he was drawing. People were eyeing him, some openly. Others, like the boy who'd been following him, trying at least, to be more subtle. Either way, none of the attention seemed to be malevolent, and Kenshin suspected that more came from his appearance and conspicuous swords than anything else. Here and there he sensed some strong ki... ex-samurai he assumed, as he'd noticed a few men absently brush the hips of their hakama as he passed. Many of them were mere shopkeepers now, or slaves to other modest and "respectable" professions, however Kenshin couldn't help but notice several who seemed to do nothing but crouch near the entrances of dirty lean-tos drinking sake or, in a more ironic twist of fate, the frothy gold of a western beverage. These men... once some of the strongest in Japan... A small muscle worked in Kenshin's jaw as he passed some drunken brawl just outside a beef pot. It was difficult to see the state these men had fallen into. It was nearly as bad here as in Kyoto.

After coming to this realization, Kenshin mostly kept his head lowered to avoid eye contact. He didn't want to recognize anyone, whether they had once been comrade or foe. He'd been to Tokyo once or twice in the past when it had been called Edo. He knew there had been strong men fighting and defending the city. He had no wish to see what had happened to them.

And in some ways, he didn't want them to understand what had become of _him_ either.

Carefully he pushed through the bustling streets, blinding his eyes to all but the dusty track that his feet mechanically traveled. Narrowing his focus to nothing more than his load of rice and tofu for the girl, some sake for himself, and, of course, a new basket for the laundry. He was hardly aware of the slanting rays of daylight, brightening the world around him. Barely took notice of the cacophony of shouting merchants and crying children, of animals and of wares being clanged around. He hardly even felt the warm sun on his skin. Nothing existed for him except those things he found couldn't ignore... The eyes that always followed him. Studied him. And the disorienting ki of so many people swaying between peaceful and desperate. It was stifling. Like a mass of children looking for a savior. Trying to understand how the peace they'd longed for had brought more control. More fear, even if it were a different breed. The emotions were strong, and frightening. He knew that if he allowed himself to concentrate on them, he'd drown in the confusion. So, in an act of self-preservation, he finally managed to stifle even this, hiding in the masses. Refusing to save them... to even _wish_ for it. There was nothing for him here, but the heavy stench of fish and unwashed bodies... of sweat and dirt and work... Staggering, even to one used to a sweeter, cloying... and far more terrible scent.

The occasional fresh perfume of a passing girl was such a shock to his desperately focused senses that it was like a slap in the face, and he'd stop and look up unconsciously. The last elegant lady had actually made him look twice. She'd walked as a quiet, content shadow just behind her husband. In another lifetime he would perhaps have been drawn to her. To the simple quiet dignity she carried. To the warmth and strength radiating from her very being. He tried to force her from his thoughts, and began walking again, aware that he hadn't distanced his mind at all. She was there for much of his walk, and in the end he rationalized to himself that he simply had an affinity to the delicate scent of white plums. Nothing more.

He tried not to think about how this one woman had managed to erase the careful control of his mind. It was open again to the world. He couldn't hide here.

* * *

_Kyoto_

In a much different, more primitive setting, the sun filtered down through the trees illuminating a wolf and dragon. Two creatures both respected and feared, out of place in this warm, light glade.

Hiko stared silently at Saito for a long while, trying to find his voice. Knowing that when he did, the peace would be irreparably broken, and though the sun would still shine, darkness would follow silently in its footsteps. How was it that the destruction of an illusion could shatter his reality as well? And why... _why, damn it,_ did his one solace, transient though it may have been, have to be stained in blood again?

 _Killing innocents? Destroying villages? Was it possible?_ He tried to picture his young deshi changing so much that he could not only taint the name of Hiten Mitsurugi, but absolutely destroy his own soul as well. _Is it possible that Kenshin finally managed to do something that's truly worth being_ ashamed _of?_

"Hiko-san."

The tall swordsman shifted his glare away from Saito, his unfocused eyes staring angrily in the distance. "You're certain of this?" he asked, irritated by the small catch in his usually smooth voice. "You know for a _fact_ that Kenshin has done these atrocities? Because if you're not..." He finally looked back, his dark eyes easily more deadly than the wolf's.

The tension in the air was tangible. Ki rolling off each of them so strongly that there was not a sound in the woods around them except for the gentle shifting of the leaves in the wind. The late sun's slanting rays were filtered somewhat into a soft green of light and shadow that danced lightly over the men.

The outside world was perfectly in balance with itself as Hiko's own crashed down around him, just as he'd known it one day would. _Damn it, why?_

His rage fought his sorrow, further paining him.

 _Has his soul devoured itself_?

Saito was pacing now. He responded coolly, although Hiko could hardly understand the words, try though he might. "We have no proof. "

_Can he be saved?_

"But we have witnesses that place a scarred redhead at the location of three decimated villages within days of their destruction."

_Must he be killed?_

"In one village, there were survivors." Saito took a drag of the cigarette, "Most of the village made it out alive, but they attacked us upon entering. A makeshift gallows was set up in the center of the town. The bodies had been cut down, then left to rot below. When asked, the people would say nothing. When the name "Battousai" was mentioned, we were forced from the town."

 _Must I be the one to end his life?_ Hiko's eyes had closed, as his mind drifted in the echoing silence following Saito's words.

_He'd entered the clearing, expecting the stench and gore of a week-old massacre. Instead he'd found a field of graves, and a child standing before three stones watching the sun set. He'd approached the child, unsure of how to respond. The boy hadn't acknowledged him with words, but he'd been open._

_They'd stood in silent respect as the sun sank past the horizon._

_Finally, Hiko had found his voice. "You buried these bandits along with your parents?"_

" _They were slavers, not my parents. My parents died a year ago."_

_As though that simple comment had answered anything. "And you buried them all?"_

_Such strong ki radiating from so small a form. "They were all people," the boy had whispered. "And now they are dead."_

_The only words that had run through Hiko's mind for that moment as they stood side by side had been, "He buried them all. He understands. This is why I saved him. He was meant to live..."_

He forced his mind back to the present and downed a fair amount of sake. It's flavor was gone, replaced with the metallic taste of blood. He drank anyway. _But I couldn't save him, could I? And now I have to kill him..._

"I'm not going to wait here forever for your response," Saito said, finally stopping his pacing, and turning his unnerving eyes toward Hiko.

The swordsmaster ignored him, not really caring if Saito had to wait, chugging a bit more sake. He needed his brain to die, his memories to fade, before he'd even have a chance at agreeing to this.

"Hiko-san."

"Shut up and let me drink," Hiko snapped, viciously. "You've got your cigarettes, leave me to my vice."

Saito seemed unimpressed, his amber eyes narrowing darkly. "I need your answer."

"Would I be drinking myself to death if I planned on saying no?" Hiko finished his jug and tossed it down. "I need more alcohol... and I need Winter Moon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks to lolo popoki, warg and FrostPhoenix for their beta work. To readers: Thanks for reading. Thanks for your patience. Please review!
> 
> Dewa mata!
> 
> Sirius

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note 2: This fic has been a weird pet project of mine for awhile, so I want to thank you for reading, and request honest reviews. It's probably gonna be a REALLY strange story...  
> And don't worry... the chapters get longer...
> 
> Dewa mata!


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